


Hot Motion

by Kinkshame_Heathcliff



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Frottage, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Drowning, Mutual Masturbation, Spring, Underage Drinking, maybe if u squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19121722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinkshame_Heathcliff/pseuds/Kinkshame_Heathcliff
Summary: His mom had always called this season the dawn of new optimism, and as he lounged, flushed pink in his bed, he couldn’t help but agree.Warmth is invigorating, and Spring meant warmth.“You still with me, Harrington?” Billy asked from the foot of the bed, his jeans pooled around his ankles. His face held his trademark glower, but the pink of his cheeks gave him away.





	Hot Motion

“I didn’t tell you to stop, Harrington.”

Billy is right, of course. He hadn’t told Steve to stop. Nevertheless Steve’s palm had slowed and his breath had begun losing its falter, until he was just sitting there staring at Billy, idly palming his crotch. 

Steve took in a good breathe and let himself hold it for a few moments, his hand still resting on the bulge in his shorts. His body was at that slightly sticky stage of sweating that was a tell-tale sign of the start of Spring and end of Winter. 

His mom had always called this season the dawn of new optimism, and as he lounged, flushed pink in his bed, he couldn’t help but agree.

Warmth is invigorating, and Spring meant warmth. 

“You still with me, Harrington?” Billy asked from the foot of the bed, his jeans pooled around his ankles. His face held his trademark glower, but the pink of his cheeks gave him away. 

Spring had also brought the re-opening of Hawkins’ public pool, and with it Billy Hargrove. Fucking Billy Hargrove. The same Billy who’d beaten Steve within an inch of his life and left his skin mottled with sickly yellow and purple bruises for weeks. 

The same Billy who, last month, almost, maybe, kinda saved him. 

The idea had seemed innocent enough. Take the kids to the Drive-in, have a laugh with Nancy and Jonathan, and call it a night. What Steve hadn’t expected was just how warm Spring was becoming. No longer breezy days of whipped cream clouds and robin’s egg skies, now thick dark nights that sizzled beneath your skin, awaited the end of each afternoon. He hadn’t meant to pour back quite so many beers, but as the condensation from his fourth dripped gradually onto his shorts, the idea of driving at all seemed comedic. 

Nancy and Jonathan didn’t find it quite so funny. In fact, Nancy called it words like “egotistical”, and “irresponsible”. Her eyes cut him more than her words, though. He’d never let anything happen to the dweebs, and everything she was insinuating was so typical of her. Always looking for the worst in him, sometimes ignoring everything else just so she could further justify how right of a decision she’d made with choosing Jonathan. So he’d ambled off down the road tossing his keys behind him, leaving the two of them to find out how everyone was getting home. 

He wished it was easier to be happy for other people. He loved Nancy, and the more he got to know Jonathan the more he liked him, but that didn’t stop him from feeling these awful pangs of anger. It was so great that they both got accepted into the same college, so exciting that they got to start a new chapter in life together. His eyes stung from the sweat dripping down his face, and he could feel his eyes welling with liquid. 

At least he’d been accepted to one college— the community college everyone went to. It was sure to be full of familiar faces, and from there maybe he’d work a desk job at his dad’s and settle into a small home down the road from his current one, and be the best man at Tommy’s wedding once they worked their shit out, and maybe have 2.5 children, and-- 

He stopped in his tracks, a hot tear spilling down his already too hot face. Everything felt so final, an apocalypse at the end of prom. He was like a kid at the arcade who’s last token rolled beneath the machine; cheated out of something he felt entitled to. 

When did it get so fucking hot? He continued his aimless wander down the tar of a road, the residual heat from the day flowing up in waves over him. That’s when he remembered the Pool. He’d spent many summers growing up running around that pool, plastered with thick white sunscreen; his mother glistening with tanning oil, lounging in a row with all the other moms. 

It was the obvious destination. 

Once there, he shed his clothing quickly, toeing off his shoes and eagerly dipping a foot into the water. The pool was intensely cold. 

That’s the funny thing about Spring, when it comes it almost makes Winter feel like a hazy memory. Spring comes with the assuredness of a rightful heir and casts away any possibility that winter had ever happened, makes the frigid days seem surely impossible. Except where it doesn’t. While the trees turn green seemingly overnight, the water remembers. The water remembers the days of snow and ice, and refuses to forget them. It’s almost cruel, he thought as he let himself drop into the water, the enveloping cold around him more intense than refreshing. 

The chill gnawed at him and dissolved all his conscious thought. His mind become a visual soup of things. Nancy’s piercing look, the cursive script of that coveted acceptance letter, Tommy’s blind resentment, flowers with fangs, and—

That’s where things go kinda hazy. He hadn’t been that drunk— really he hadn’t, but he also doesn’t remember much about being in the pool. His last real thoughts were all consumed by it being colder than what he’d wanted. He can remember psychedelic pops of red bleeding through, and a hard warmth touching him, all with an intense pressure on his chest, and then, clearly: Billy Hargrove. He was panting above him, golden ringlets of hair each dripping gently onto Steve’s face. The warmth was back, but not as intense as before. 

A strand of Billy’s golden hair touched his face, painting a graceful line across his forehead. 

It’d been funny to him— he’d laughed then, and Billy had punched him in the chest; hard. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at, Harrington?!” Billy spat as he backed away from where Steve was crouched on the ground.

Steve hacked a bit, and his lungs definitely felt even worse then when he’d accidentally choked taking a deep bong rip two summers ago with Tommy, but Billy still stood there looking at him, eyes wide and fluctuating between alarmed and angry.

“It’s just so fucking hot.” Steve had eventually croaked out.

They don’t talk about that night much, but when they do Billy always refers to it as “that time I saved your life because you drink like a little bitch”.

There’s a rummaging at the foot of the bed and Steve can feel a new heat, Billy’s natural furnace warmth. 

“Earth to Harrington,” Billy chides as he crawls onto Steve, bracing his hands on either side of Steve’s head.

“I swear you spend more time in outer space than the fucking astronauts do.” 

Steve laughs, and Billy takes the opportunity to move his face into Steve’s neck. A few hot breaths on his ear are the only warning before Billy’s taking the bottom lobe into his mouth and biting. 

“Like I said, Harrington, I don’t think I told you to stop touching yourself.” 

His voice drips with an easy authority and he sucks hard on Steve’s neck. Tongue lathing over the freshly marked skin adoringly.

Billy wasn’t asking anything hard, honestly. Everything he was doing now was mental wank bank gold should Steve ever require it. And speaking of hard, Steve once again cups his crotch, fingers rubbing rhythmically on his boxers. 

Billy pulls back then, moving to straddle Steve’s thighs. His hands grip Steve’s hips and he thumbs circles into his sides. 

“You look so fucking beautiful like this, you know that Harrington?”

His thumb dips beneath Steve’s waistband. And Steve’s breath catches. 

Billy smirks at him and turns his attention to Steve’s boxers.

“What's this?” Billy swipes across a small dark stain in Steve’s boxers, and Steve turns his head to the side blushing. 

“Getting so wet for me, baby.” 

Billy leans forward and grabs Steve’s face, turning it up again.

“No, no, you’re not looking away, baby. I wanna see you the whole time— want you to see me.”

Billy’s hand on his face is a new kind of warmth, one born through closeness and contact. The kind of warmth that turns concerts into sweat shacks. 

He gives Billy a small nod, and Billy smiles down at him.

“So good for me, baby.”

Billy’s thumb presses on Steve’s bottom lip.

This is typical of Billy. He loves Steve’s mouth— not that there’s anything wrong with that! Steve thinks his mouth’s nice enough, and it’s dope that Billy likes it so much, it’s just that sometimes it’s like going to the dentist. Billy fucks around with Steve’s mouth, Steve moans into it, sucks Billy’s: thumb, ring finger, etc. , and somewhere along the way Steve’s horny haze turns into a polite boredom. 

So, not tonight.

Steve lets his mouth fall slack, gives Billy’s thumb a small bite instead of his usual kitten licks. 

Billy’s eyebrows raise and his grin turns wicked.

“What— no foreplay tonight? Got plans after or something?”

Steve goes to reply, but before he can, Billy grips his cock.

The moan he lets out is entirely involuntary, but he’d do it again in a heartbeat - and probably will. 

Billy’s default expression is smug, but right now his face is even more smug than usual.

“Didn’t think you had plans after, who’s gonna make you feel better than me, huh?”

Billy’s grip tightens as he slowly tugs down on Steve’s dick.

“You gonna answer me, princess, or should I just leave?”

And suddenly there’s no pressure on Steve, and it’s a bit like that eventful swim in the pool. Unexpected and cold.

“No one, Billy, only you, I-I only want you,” Steve lets out, and fuck he knows his voice must be shot right now, but Billy doesn’t seem to mind.

Billy’s hand goes back to Steve’s cock, but doesn’t resume jerking him off, instead simply applying pressure.

“You’re on the right track, Princess, but I’m gonna need more than that if you’re gonna finish tonight”

Steve groans again. Billy’s hand on him gives him back some of his sanity, but it simultaneously gets rid of the rest.

Billy’s definitely balls deep into his ego trip— but he’s right. Steve had a theory that you could document a great love by counting orgasms and mapping bruises, and Billy had provided him with ample material for that. 

There was the time Billy demonstrated just how amazing blow jobs could be, there was the time Billy showed him that same skill once again—but this time they were at the movies - and there was also the time they’d—

Billy gives his dick a firm squeeze.

“Best sex of my life.” Steve says

He’s quiet about it, but what else is there to say. He’d never experienced an orgasm that felt literally debilitating before Billy. Never even knew what a prostate was, let alone that it could feel that good. 

He knows he’s feeding Billy’s fire right now.

He also knows he really, really, wants to cum sooner rather than later. 

Billy leans forward and catches Steve’s mouth in a rough kiss. He’s nipping at Steve’s lips and lathing his tongue in and around this mouth. It’s possessive, and demeaning, and gross, but, so, so, fucking good. 

Billy fucks instinctively - everything he does feels like it comes from a deep, animalistic place within him. It’s almost always on the edge of too much, but Steve’s found that that precipice is exactly where he wants to be. 

Billy trails from his mouth back down to his neck, licking and sucking gently on the skin there, biting Steve’s jaw.

“Where do you want it?”

This is another one of Billy’s favorite games. Leave a mark on Steve (sometimes many), then watch him squirm in public. Sometimes Billy will take it even farther by ragging on him about it at school, ask who the lucky girl was, press for details, just be difficult in general. 

It should be annoying, and Steve should be better about making him stop.

But deep down he knows he likes it. Loves how long Billy takes when he’s working on sucking the perfect bruise into his neck. Loves seeing the twinkle in Billy’s eyes the next day when he spots Steve in class. 

So maybe Steve’s possessive too, if there’s a way to be possessive about being possessed. 

It’d be easy if it was about submission, but he doesn't think it’s that. It’s about holding and being held. 

So he doesn’t protest when Billy initiates his plan to adorn him in a new bruise; doesn’t worry about just how visible it’ll be now because of the change in weather, no longer easily concealed under a scarf or sweater. 

Instead he cranes his neck into Billy’s mouth giving him access to every square inch. 

“You want it here?” Billy nips in the middle of his neck to the side below his ear. “Right out in the open?—Fuck, you must want everyone to see it.”

Steve moans. Billy also introduced Steve to dirty talk. Steve loves dirty talk. 

Billy starts his work, sucking hard on the spot, hands running up and down Steve’s sides.

“I do,” Steve whispers out, head half turned into a pillow.

He doesn’t think it’s possible, but somehow Billy must hear because the sucking increases to an almost comical level. 

Billy’s fingers twist at Steve’s nipples, and he moans into the touch. Like everything Billy gives, it hurts, but in a way that makes you reevaluate your scale of pain to pleasure. Steve’s whole body arches into Billy, begging for more of whatever Billy will give him.

Billy tugs at his nipples, and Steve thinks it’s gonna push him over the edge. Thinks he’s gonna cum rutting up into Billy like a horny virgin. 

With a wet pop Billy releases Steve’s neck from his vampiric embrace, and presses a gentle kiss on the mark. 

“It’s dangerous how good you look with bruises.”

Steve takes a breath and laughs for a second, rolling his eyes

“You do have a habit of leaving me with them.”

Billy presses his hand into Steve’s underwear and grips his dick, fingers wrapping around the shaft.

“Can I ever make it up to you, Princess?” He asks, hand moving up and down rhythmically. 

It’s all friction and tension, no glide from spit or lube. It’s messy and desperate and exactly what Steve needs right now. He arches into the touches, every bit of new contact sprouting bliss through his body like ink dropping into water. 

Billy takes his hand off of Steve and pulls his own cock out.

Billy’s cock matches the rest of him. Very strong. Very handsome. He’s of average size, according to their sex ed presentation, but he’s got a good girth. It has a weight to it.

Billy grabs Steve’s dick again and wraps his hand around both of their members. 

It feels incredible. 

The tip of Billy’s cock is weeping drops of precum onto both of their shafts and the rhythm increases with the easier glide.

Billy spits into his hand and continues his work, the easy glide it provides is overwhelming. Friction can be amazing, but the smooth movements lube produces are just as pleasurable in different ways. 

During all of it Billy never looks away from Steve. 

If this were any other relationship Steve thinks it might be weird. The constant need for connection. 

Billy hurt Steve once. Left him bloodied on the floor, eyes swimming with dark shapes. Shit, he would’ve killed him if Max hadn’t intervened. 

The same Billy saved him from drunkenly drowning in a pool.

It’s an interesting dichotomy. One that a loving mother might point to as: ‘he’s only picking on you because he likes you’— but it’s more complicated than that. 

Steve’s a Taurus. He can be stubborn and headstrong— but he also believes in actions over words. 

Billy isn’t an easy character. He has his bullshit like everyone has their bullshit, and life isn’t fair so Billy has a fuck ton of bullshit. Shit he doesn’t deserve— shit no one deserves. 

Regardless, they’ve built something special between the two of them, something tender and warm and good.

So staring at Billy doesn’t feel awkward or cloying. He lets Billy see just how good he’s making him feel. Gives himself to Billy. He trusts Billy. 

With one right tug Steve can feel himself climaxing, the elastic sensation bursting through his core. Orgasming is like experiencing the color white throughout your whole body. 

He cries Billy’s name out in devotion, in delight.

Billy’s eyes glass over after the first two sprays of cum hit his chest. He pumps slow and tight. 

He lays down on top of Steve still working their dicks between them, rutting into Steve with wanton desperation. 

He’s sucking at his neck when Steve can feel Billy cumming. The balmy liquid inking between their torsos, a legal signature of their affair. Maybe even a notarized one. 

Billy pants into him for a short while before pushing himself up and next to Steve.

“I ever tell you just how fucking pretty you are, Harrington?”

Steve laughs, short and breathy, coughing a bit into it. Post coital Billy is definitely one of his favorite Billys.

“What do I even say to that, man?” Steve chides at him laughter still in his voice, “Am I supposed to agree and sound narcissistic, or disagree and bait you to tell me again because I—“

Billy crashes his mouth into Steve’s, both hands working around the back of his head his tongue burrowing in quickly, it knows the exact path to easiest access Steve’s mouth. 

They kiss for a moment before Billy pulls back a fraction, breathing in Steve’s warm, humid air. 

“Steve Harrington, you—“

He kisses Steve.

“—Are—“

He kisses Steve’s cheekbone.

“—The—“

He kisses Steve’s closed eye.

“—Prettiest thing—“

He licks up the bridge of Steve’s nose.

“—I’ve ever met, and ever will meet”

He finishes his ritual with another quick lick into Steve’s mouth, and Steve can feel a wetness tugging at the corner of his eyes. He’s lucky because he can pass it off as a reaction to Billy’s mustache and spit on his eye.

His vision swims and quivers the warm tears pooling in their reservoir. The room around him dissolves into distorted shapes and color, and he remembers sinking to the bottom of a pool.

He takes a deep breath of Spring and the first tear breaks the precipice. Billy breaks the glass of the pool’s tranquil waters as he jumps in. 

The tear runs along the valley of his nose and forms an estuary with the spit in his mouth. Billy embraces him before pulling him out of the water.

Steve coughs up the liquid in him and laughs. This time Billy doesn’t punch him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!!
> 
> This fic is like….the product of that one line from “South London Forever” by Florence (there’s a special kind of sadness that seems to come with Spring) , and the entirety of “Sabbath” by jenny hval (which I FULLY stole one sentence from). 
> 
> Anyways I’m really emotional about these boys and if the Duffy brothers try to take Billy from me in season 3 I’m gonna riot. 
> 
> This fic operates with a few OOC things like: Steve is a Taurus because Joe is, and Steve is smart (which I know is arguably not OOC, but I feel like in fanon it’s so common)
> 
> I wish I could trace back my fixation on hickies for y’all, but I legit can’t! I just get very emotional about them. 
> 
> I hope y’all enjoyed!! Lots of luv until next time I decided to write something :)))))


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